I wasn't really a Westerner an' that's why I'm so different from most
of 'em. Take your regular bonie fide Westerner an' when he dies he
don't turn to dust, he turns to alkali; but when it comes my turn to
settle, I'll jest natchely become the good rich soil o' the Indiana
cornbelt.
I was born in Indiana and I never left it till after I was ten years
old. That's about the time boys generally start out to hunt Injuns; but
I kept on goin' till I found mine--but I didn't kill him--nor him me
neither, as far as that goes.
I allus did have the misfortune o' gettin' hungry at the most
inconvenient times, an' after I 'd been gone about two weeks I got
quite powerful hungry, so I natchely got a job waitin' on a lunch
counter back in Omaha. The third day I was there I was all alone in the
front room when in walked an Injun. He was about eight feet high, I
reckon; and the fiercest Injun I ever see. I took one look at him a'
then I dropped behind the counter and wiggled back to the kitchen where
the boss was. I gasped out that the Injuns was upon us an' then I flew
for my firearms.
When the boss discovered that the Injun and fourteen doughnuts, almost
new, had vanished, he was some put out, and after we had discussed the
matter, I acted on his advice and came farther West. That business
experience lasted me a good long while. I don't like business an' I
don't blame any one who has to follow it for a livin' for wantin' to
have a vacation so he can get out where the air is fit to breathe.
Just imagine bein' hived up day after day with nothin' to see but walls
an' nothin' to do but customers. You first got to be friendly with your
visitors to make 'em feel at home, an' then you got to get as much of
their money as you can in order to keep on bein' friendly with 'em in
order to keep on gettin' as much of their money as you can.
Now out in the open a feller don't have to be a hypocrite: once I
worked a whole year for a man who hated me so he wouldn't speak to me;
but I didn't care, I liked the work and I did it an' he raised my wages
twice an' gave me a pony when I quit.
He was the sourest tempered man I ever see; but it was good trainin' to
live with him a spell. Lots of men has streaks of bein' unbearable; but
this man was the only one I ever met up with who was solid that way,
and didn't have one single streak of bein' likeable. He was the only
man I ever see who wouldn't talk to me. I was a noticing sort of a kid
an' I saw mighty early that what wins the hearts o' ninety-nine men out
of a hundred is listenin' to 'em talk. That's why I don't talk much
myself. But you couldn't listen to old Spike Williams, 'cause the'
wasn't no opportunity--he didn't even cuss.
We was snowed up for two weeks one time an' I took a vow 'at I'd make
him talk. I tried every subject I'd ever heard of; but he didn't even
grunt. Just when things was clearin' off, I sez to him, usin' my
biggest trump: "Spike," sez I, "do you know what they say about you?"
"No," sez he, "but you know what I say about them," an' he went on with
his packin'.
I thought for a while 'at the year I'd spent with Spike Williams was a
total loss; but jest the contrary. It had kept me studyin' an' schemin'
an' analysin' until, after that year had been stored away to season, I
discovered it was the best year I'd ever put in, an' while I hadn't got
overly well acquainted with Spike, I had become mighty friendly with
myself and was surprised to find out how much the' was to me.
Did you ever think of that? You start out an' a feller comes along an'
throws an opinion around your off fore foot an' you go down in a heap
an' that opinion holds you fast for some time. When you start on again
another feller ropes you with a new opinion, an' the first thing you
know you are all cluttered up an' loaded down with other fellers'
opinions, an' the' ain't enough o' your own self left to tell what
you're like; but after that winter with Spike I was pretty well able to
dodge an opinion until I had time to learn what it meant.
But the main good I got out of Spike was learnin' how to take old Cast
Steel Judson. It was some years after this before I met up with him;
but the good effect hadn't worn off and me an' Cast Steel just merged
together like butter an' a hot penny. I wasn't much more 'an a kid even
then, but law! I wish I knew just half as much now as I thought I did
then. My self respect was certainly a bulky article those days an' I
wasn't in the habit of undervaluin' my own judgment--not to any great
extent; but that habit o' study I'd formed with Spike was my balance
wheel, an' I generally managed to keep my conceit from shuttin' out the
entire landscape. The' wasn't a great deal escaped my eye, 'cause I
begun to notice purty tol'able young that experience is consid'able
like a bank account: takes a heap o' sweat to get her started, but
she's comfortable to draw on in a pinch.
Ol' man Judson was a curious affair, had his own way o' doin' every
blessed thing, an' whenever he hired a man he always went through the
same rigamarole. "Now what I'm contractin' for," he'd say, "is just
only your time an' whatever part o' your thinkin' apparatus as is
needed in doin' YOUR share o' my business. If I detail you to sit in
the shade an' count clouds, I don't want no argument, I want the clouds
counted. When I don't specially express a hungerin' for any of your
advice, that's the very time when you don't need to give any. Whenever
you think you have a kick comin'--why think again. Then if you still
see the kick, make it to the foreman. If that don't work make it to me;
but when you make it to me, you want to be mighty sure it will hold
water. Above all things I hate a liar, a coward, an' a sneak. Now get
busy 'cause life is short an' time is fleetin'."
That was the way he used to talk, an' some used to set him down as a
tyrant, an' some had him guessed in as a rough old codger with a soft
heart,--everybody took a guess at him,--but the blood in the turnip was
that ol' Jabez Judson was purty tol'able sizey when you carne to fence
him in. Everybody called him Cast Steel Judson, an' you might work
through the langwidge five times without adding much to the
description. Hard he was an' stern an' no bend to him; but at the same
time you could count on him acting up to his nature. He wa'n't no
hypocrite, an' th''s a heap o' comfort jest in that. A feller ain't got
no kick comin' when a rattler lands on him; but if a wood dove was to
poison him, he'd have a fair right to be put out. The only child 'at
Cast Steel had was one daughter; but that don't indicate that paternity
was one long vacation for Jabez. Barbie--her full name was Barbara--was
the sweetest an' the gamest an' the most surpriseable creature a human
being ever met up with, an' ol' Jabez could 'a' got along handier with
seven sons than he did with that one girl. Oh, the eyes of her were
like the two stars over old Savage, snappin' an' twinklin' an'
sparklin' in the clear winter nights, or soft an' shy an' tender when
the hazy spring moon cuddles up to them. She wasn't afraid of anything
'at walks the face o' the earth, an' Jabez had a hard time gettin' used
to this--'cause he thought she ought to be afraid o' him.
Still, he fair worshipped her, an' if he'd been given full charge o'
the earth for jest one day, an' anything would 'a' pestered the girl
durin' that day, why the map-maker would sure have had a job on the day
follerin'; 'cause from his standpoint, that girl was what the sun shone
for an' the rain rained for an' the blossoms blossomed for.
We was allus havin' a lot o' Easterners string along during the summer,
an' they generally was easy to entice into makin' a little visit with
us. Some of 'em would spend their time crackin' stones an' makin' up
tales about their bein' speciments o' the Zelooic age or the Palazoric
age or some such a fool thing. They was mostly heathens, an' it didn't
do no good to spring the Bible on 'em--in fact after we got able to
read their signs we never contraried 'em at all, but just let 'em heave
out any tale they could think up an' pretend 'at we believed it; an'
hanged if I don't begin to suspicion that the' 's a heap o' truth in
some o' their nonsense.
Purty near every one of 'em insisted that at one time all those
mountains, even old Savage, had been under water, an' they'd take us
out an' show us the signs; but we couldn't stomach that until we found
out that this was one o' the Injun traditions too, an' then we give in.
Well, one o' these strays was what they call an astronomer. His
speciality was the stars, nothing less; an' he knew 'em by name an'
could tell you how far off they are an' what they weigh an' how many
moons they had an'--oh, he knew 'em the same as I know the home herd,
an' he didn't only know what they had done--he knew what they was
a-goin' to do, an' when he called the turn on 'em, why they up an' done
it. Comets an' eclipses an' sech like miracles were jest the same to
this feller as winter an' summer was to me, an' we fed him until he
like to founder himself, tryin' to hold him through the winter; but at
last he had to go, an' after he'd gone Cast Steel was purty
down-hearted for quite a spell.
"It ain't fair, Happy," sez he to me one day after the astronomer had
gone.
"No," sez I, "I reckon it will rain before mornin'."
"I mean it ain't a fair shake," sez he. "Jupiter has eight of 'em an'
we ain't but one an' the' ain't nobody lives there, while--"
"What do you happen to be talkin' of?" sez I.
"Why moons," sez he. "It seems too doggone bad for that confounded
planet to have eight moons an' no one to enjoy 'em while my little girl
jest dotes on 'em an' we only have one--an' IT don't work more'n half
the time."
That was Cast Steel: he didn't look on life or death, or wealth or
poverty, or anything else except in the way it applied to Barbie--but
she was worth it, she was worth it, an' I never blamed him none.
But you needn't get the idea that Jabez was one o' these fond an'
lovin' parents what sez: "My child, right if perfectly convenient, but
right or wrong, my child." Not on your future prospects! Jabez, he sez:
"My child, right from the shoes up, if the Rocky Mountains has to be
ground to powder to make her so."
I remember the day she was six year old; he hardly ever laid out the
details for her conduct, he jest sort o' schemed out a general plan and
left her free to adjust herself to it, like a feller does with a dog or
a pony he expects to keep a long time an' don't want to turn into a
machine. He had told Barbie he didn't want her to ride nothin' 'at
wasn't safe. Well, on the mornin' she became a six-year-old he came out
o' the side door an' saw her disappearin' in the distance on top a big
pinto 'at he had sent over for Buck Harmon to bust; it havin' already
pitched Spider Kelley an' dislocated his shoulder.
"Who roped that pony for her?" yelled Cast Steel.
"I did," sez I. "She said 'at this was her birthday an' she was tired
of actin' like a kid an' intended to ride a real ridin' hoss."
"If a hair of her head is injured, hell won't hide ya!" sez Cast Steel,
an' his lip trembled an' his eyes fairly smoked.
"She's jest as safe as if she was in her bed," sez I, as gentle as I
could. "I taught her how to ride, an' I ain't ashamed o' the job. She
can give Spider Kelley cards an' spades an' beat him to it every time.
But as far as that goes--"
I didn't get to finish because here she come, tearin' back on the
pinto. Her hair was flyin', her eyes was dancin', an' she was
laughin'--laughin' out loud. Light an' easy she pulled the pinto up
beside us an' calls out: "Oh, daddy, this is lovely, this is
mag-ni-fi-cent"--the little scamp used to pick up big words from the
Easterners, an' when she had one to fit she never wasted time on a
measly little ranch word--"oh, I'm never goin' to ride old Kate again."
"Git off that pony," sez Jabez, makin' a reach for the bit; but the
pony shied, whirled, an' purty nigh kicked his head off. He stood still
in a daze while Barbie was circling the pony an' gettin' him quiet
again.
"How's she goin' to get off?" asked Jabez, turnin' to me.
"Simply climb down," sez I purty short. I had some temper those days,
an' I hadn't got over his insinuations, an' I didn't intend to.
"She'll be killed!" sez Jabez. I never said a word.
"She'll be killed!" he repeated, an' his voice was filled with anguish.
"Get down off the pony, Barbie," sez I, an' she threw her little leg
over the saddle an' hit the grass like an antelope. The pony never
stirred. Ol' Jabez stood watchin' her with his eyes poppin' out. "Turn
the brute loose!" he shouts. "What for?" sez she. "'Cause I say so!" he
fairly roars.
Well, she walks up, pats the pinto on the nose, an' slips the bridle
off his head. He just stands still an' watches her as mild as a pint o'
cream.
"Rope that pony," sez Cast Steel to me.
"Get one o' your own men to rope it," sez I.
He looked into my eyes a moment an' then he called to George Hendricks
to rope the pinto; but when George hove in sight with his rope the
pinto took to his heels an' made for the horizon. "There goes a
ninety-dollar saddle," sez Jabez to me, "an' it's all your damned
nonsense."
"It ain't either," sez Barbie, as fierce as a wounded bear, "it's all
your damned nonsense. Happy has been trainin' that pony nights for my
birthday an'--"
"Barbara!" yells Jabez, "what do you mean by usin' such langwidge? I'll
line you out for this. You know mighty well--"
"Now you play accordin' to the rule," sez Barbie. "You was teachin' me
to play seven up last week an' you said that everybody had to play by
the same rule. I reckon that goes in cussin' too."
Well, they looked into each other's eyes for quite some while, an' then
Jabez sez: "Go into the house, Barbara, an' we'll both think it over,
an' as soon as we get time we'll settle it."
"All right," sez Barbie, an' she turns around an' marches to the house,
her little head held like a colonel's. Just before she reached the
house she turned an' calls: "You'll get the pinto for me, won't you,
Happy?" I sort o' half nodded my head, an' she went on into the house.
"Did you ever see such grit?" sez Cast Steel, "an' her only six. Kids
oughtn't to act so grown up at six, had they, Happy?"
"I reckon 'at kids are pretty much like colts an' puppies an' other
young things: give 'em dolls to play with an' they'll play like
children, but start 'em out on cards an' ponies, an' range 'em off with
nothin' but grown folks, an' they're bound to have ways like grown
folks'."
Jabez fidgeted around a while, an' then he sez, "Are you goin' to try
to catch the pinto?
"I am goin' to catch it," sez I, rollin' a cigarette.
He kind o' nervoused around a few minutes longer an' then he sez, "What
did you mean a while ago?"
"Jest whatever I said," sez I. "I don't know what you're a-referrin'
to, but if I said it, that's what I meant."
"When I asked you to rope the pinto you told me to git one o' my own
men to rope it; what does that mean?"
"It means that when a man tells me that hell can't hide me from his
wrath, I 'm free to consider myself foot loose. A man don't want to
slaughter none of his own hands, an' if it should be that any one feels
called upon to go after my hide, I don't want to feel that the time I
'm wastin' in takin' care o' that hide rightfully belongs to another
man who is payin' for it. Therefore I have quit. I'm goin' to rope the
pinto for Barbie, but I wouldn't do it for you, an' when I get back
I'll call around for what's comin' to me."
"Well, go an' be hanged! You always was the most obstinate,
high-headed, bull-intellected thin-skin 'at ever drew down top wages
for punchin' cows. You're nothin' more than a kid, an' yet you swell
around an' expect a man--"
"Well, I don't expect nothin' from you, ceptin' my wages," sez I.
"You go to Jericho, will you!" snaps Jabez. "You don't need to think
that I'd try to argue any man on earth into workin' for me. I can get
an army o' riders as good or better than you--but the gel likes you,
Happy, an'--"
"An' that's why I 'm goin' after the pinto," sez I, an' I flopped onto
a pony an' sailed out to a little glen in the foothills where I knew I
'd find him, an' as soon as I had towed him back to the corral I put my
saddle on the old beast I had rode there an' set off.
Just as I rode around the edge o' the corral, ol' man Judson stood
there grittin' his teeth. "What are you ridin' that old skin for?" sez
he.
"'Cause it's the only pony I got," sez I.
"You leave it here an' take your pick out o' the five-year-olds," sez
he.
"All I want out o' this ranch is what I have earned," sez I.
"If you don't get something 'at your pride'll earn some day, I'm the
biggest fool this side o' the big ditch. Here's your pay. You've been a
fair hand, but don't forget that I never hire a man twice, an' I've
hired you once already."
"Now look here, Jabez," sez I, "I ain't so old as I'll get if I live as
long as I may, but I'm old enough to know that it's just as easy, to
find a good boss as it is to find a good man. I've done my work without
fussin', an' you've seen me in a pinch or two; an' yet this very
mornin' you intimated than I 'd risk Barbie on a pony she couldn't
ride. The' ain't nothin' I wouldn't do for that child, but you don't
understand her, an' if you go on in your high-handed way with her you
're in for the sorrow o' your life--mark my words."
"Here's your money. You ain't got sense enough to know your place an' I
'm glad to be shut of you." Jabez handed me my pay an' stamped over to
the ranch house, while I kept on down the valley trail.
When I reached the turn I twisted about in my saddle an' looked at the
cluster o' buildings. They looked soft an' gray with old Mount Savage
standin' on guard back of 'em, an' the' was a bigger lump under my
necktie than I generally wore. I didn't have mach call to go anywhere,
an' I sat there on my old pony, wonderin' whether or not it paid to be
game.
If my mother had been alive, jest at that point would have been where
the West would have lost the benefit of my personal supervision--but
then if my mother had lived I shouldn't never 'a' left home. I stood a
stepmother six months out o' respect to my Dad, but I wouldn't 'a'
stood that one a year--well, anyway, not unless I'd been chained an'
muzzled.
It's a funny thing to me how a man can drink an' fight an' carry on for
a year at a clip an' then all of a sudden feel a hurtin' somewhere
inside that nothin' wouldn't help but a little pettin'. He knows
doggone well 'at there ain't none comin' to him, so he hides it by
cuttin' up a little worse than usual but it's there, an' Gee! but it
does rest heavy when it comes. Why, take me even now when the' wouldn't
nothin' but a grizzly bear have the nerve to coddle me, an' yet week
before last I felt so blue an' solitary 'at I couldn't 'a' told to save
me whether I was homesick or whether it was only 'cause the beans was a
little sour.
I sat there on the old pony a good long time, an' then I heaved a sigh
'at made me swell out like an accordion, an' headed back to the valley
trail. When I turned around, there, standin' in the trail before me
with a streak down each cheek, stood Barbie.
"Ya ain't goin', are ya?" sez she.
"I got to go, honey," sez I.
"Ain't ya never comin' back?" asked she.
"Oh, I'll come back some day, ridin' a big black hoss with silver
trimmed leather--an' what shall I bring little Barbie?" sez I, tryin'
to be gay.
"Just bring me yourself, Happy, that's all the present I want. I love
you because you're the handsomest man in the world"--yes, it was me she
meant, only o' course that was some years ago an' the child was
unthinkable young--"an' cause you tell me the nicest stories, an' train
pintos, an'--an' I'm goin' to marry you when I grow up."
"Marry me, kitten?" sez I, laughin' free an' natural this time. "Why,
bless your heart, where did you ever hear o' marriage?"
"My Daddy tells me of my mother, an' what a beautiful lady she was, an'
how happy they were together--an' I'm goin' to marry you when you come
back."
"Well, Barbie," sez I right soberly, "you be true to me an' I'll be
true to you, an' now we'll kiss to bind the promise."
So I lifted her to my saddle an' kissed her. "How did you get here,
child?" sez I.
She didn't answer for a minute. "I rode old Kate," said she at last,
"but I didn't want you to know it. She's over behind that rock. And
now, Happy, don't you dare to forget me. Good-bye."
I set her down in the road with her eyes misty an' her white teeth set
in her lips, an' my own eyes were so hazy like that I couldn't see her
when I looked back, an' then I rode away down the valley trail.